


Never Let Go

by evila_elf



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evila_elf/pseuds/evila_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson wants some alone time from House. When his peaceful out of doors weekend is disrupted by two crazy men with guns, maybe spending time with House isn’t so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Go

Originally posted in 5 parts to Livejournal on April 26th, 2009

**Chapter 1**

Wilson stopped walking. He took in the gradually warming air filled with the scent of pine and the wildflowers that grew nearby in a deep breath before slowly letting it out. There was a small comforting ache in his legs. Wilson had forgotten how much pleasure he used to get from hiking, from pushing the limits of his body, and then some. 

It was Saturday, and for once Wilson was spending the weekend by himself rather than with House. About a month ago, Wilson had accidentally let slip his true feelings toward House. House had given a surprised laugh, poked fun at him for the better part of a week until Wilson was ready to throttle him, then not-so-accidentally let his own feelings slip, with a kiss, once he thought Wilson had suffered enough. Since then, they had been practically joined at the hip, to the point of Wilson feeling smothered. So Wilson had suggested this hiking trip, which House had immediately declined, as Wilson had known he would. It was a relief to Wilson because he enjoyed listening to nature. Not House.

Hiking was something they had used to do together and he had felt too guilty to go without House since the infarction. Until now. Sitting behind a desk from nine to five and drinking beers with House in the evenings had started to take their toll, as House so kindly put it.

He looked back the way he had come and could just make out the top of his car. The bend in the trail coming up would leave him completely surrounded by plants, trees, and hopefully wildlife and he eagerly pressed on. Submersing himself in nature sounded good. He was making his way carefully through some plants that had overgrown the deer trail when his foot snagged on something and he fell to his knees. He rubbed at his bruised knee and cursed his decision to wear shorts. This was not the kind of submersing he had in mind. In a crouch, he brushed away some of the ground cover to try to find what had caused his fall. He expected to find anything from tree roots to human garbage, but he did not expect to find an arm, silver watch catching a few rays of sunlight, palm raised up toward the sky. 

Wilson blinked, too startled to jump back. He touched the skin with his fingertips. It felt warm. He uncovered the rest of the body, then felt for a pulse. The man, face down, head tilted slightly in Wilson’s direction, looked young, barely out of his twenties. Wilson was about to check for identification when he saw them: two splotches of red staining the dark colored shirt along the man’s spine. Shot in the back. A shiver ran up his own spine. Hadn’t he heard several shots echoing as he had gotten out of his car? Less than half an hour ago? He stood up so fast he felt dizzy. 

There was a sudden burst of laughter and Wilson spun toward the sound. _Fuck_. Two men stepped out from the trees, walking toward him. Each carried a rifle, one of which was aimed at him. ‘I’m going to die out here,’ he thought as he slowly raised his arms shoulder high, palms out, mouth suddenly dry.

“Well, lookee what we have here.”

The man carrying the rifle spoke first. He was of an average build with an average face, but with a no-nonsense stare. His shirt was flannel, his blue jeans splattered with mud. Wilson searched his face, looking for something other than amusement and only found a kind of hunger that terrified him. If the man licked his lips, Wilson wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Looks like we get two for the price of one.”

The second man was smaller, slimmer, younger, and Wilson was instantly afraid of him, blood running cold when he met his twinkling blue eyes that seemed to be dancing with amusement. He wore a soft yellow shirt with a denim jacket, and black jeans that were even dirtier than his friend’s.

Flannel Shirt--too soft a name for the hard eyes holding no compassion--sighted down the scope of his rifle and Wilson looked down to see a small red dot moving in a lazy arc around where his heart was frantically trying to escape from his ribcage and hide behind his liver.

“Well, that’s not very sportsmanshiplike. He don’t know about the game,” Blue Eyes pointed out, not sounding like he cared one way or the other.

Flannel Shirt shrugged and Wilson watched, with morbid fascination, as his finger slowly caressed the trigger. 

“We have time,” he leaned in close to Flannel Shirt, but pitched his voice so Wilson could hear. “That last bastard wasn’t much fun. I have a feeling this guy,” his head did a head to hiking-boot body-sweep of Wilson, “will be a nice change.”

“Well…” Flannel Shirt seemed reluctant to lower his rifle.

 _Good fuck, bad fuck,_ he could hear House’s voice telling him. He glanced to his side, almost expecting House to be standing there next to him. It was actually a relief that he wasn’t, because he would have only gotten them both killed. If not with that remark, then probably the next.

The two men were continuing their discussion, rifle still aimed in his direction, one eye on him, one on each other. Wilson cleared his throat, regretting when they both looked back at him. 

“W-what game?” Wilson asked timidly, wondering if it could be worse than getting gunned down in cold blood when they got tired of looking at him.

“See? The little bastard is interested in playing.” Blue Eyes seemed cheerful.

Flannel Shirt chewed his lip as he thought, the silence heavy. Wilson expected him to say “Naw” and shoot him on the spot. But then he fractionally lowered his gun. “Sure,” he said to Blue Eyes, then narrowed his eyes as he turned to Wilson. “Give us your pack.”

Wilson shrugged it from his shoulders, feeling even more naked and alone without its comforting weight against his back. He shuffled forward, walking slowly in case his legs refused to work. Before he could set his pack down, Flannel Shirt tossed his rifle to the other man, and grabbed Wilson by the wrist, yanking him forward in a tight grip. Wilson dropped the pack, nearly tripping over it. He found himself closer to Flannel Shirt than he ever wanted to be, smelling foul breath and sweat. Without warning, a large hand was shoved into his front pants pockets and fished around until his keys, a handful of coins, and a pack of fruity chewing gum were extracted. When he was released, he rubbed his wrist absently and tried to quell his fear, watching as his things were passed to Blue Eyes.

Blue Eyes grinned evilly before tossing his keys far away into the tangled vetch that grew everywhere.

A rough hand grabbed his chin and knocked his attention away from where his keys had disappeared in the dense foliage. For a moment, he was worried that ‘the game’ involved something that ended up with him raped and left for dead in the middle of nowhere. That moment seemed to stretch forever as he looked into the cold eyes, on the verge of having a panic attack and dying like a terrified rabbit.

 _Fucker’s enjoying this_. House’s voice again. 

Suddenly, Flannel Shirt yanked Wilson close once again, groping at his waist. He felt warm breath against his neck and tried to struggle. Before he could truly start to panic, he was let go, when his cell phone and wallet were triumphantly retrieved from his back pockets. 

Wilson glared at him, trying to calm down while Blue Eyes chuckled, amused at Wilson’s expense.

“Now look at your watch and tell me the time.” Flannel Shirt was all business.

Wilson hesitated before glancing down at his wrist. “E-eleven fifteen,” he stuttered. _Time of death: 11:15._ He closed his eyes and willed the House-like voice in his head to just shut up.

“In 24 hour’s time,” Blue Eyes said, “we’ll let you walk outta here. But there’s a catch.” He handed the rifle back to his friend. “You have to try and stay alive the whole time.” He grinned and Wilson got the impression that staying alive wasn’t going to be easy. Blue Eyes took a step toward Wilson and Wilson flinched away.

However, Blue Eyes continued past Wilson and knelt down next to the body. He returned a moment later with the deceased man’s watch, pushing buttons to reset the alarm. He grabbed Wilson’s arm and roughly fastened the watch to his wrist before taking his place next to his buddy again.

“Your 10-minute head start’s wasting,” Flannel Shirt said, sharing a grin with Blue Eyes.

“Go.”

“W-w-what?” Wilson whispered, taking a step back and looking back and forth between the two men. He took a couple more slow steps, afraid to turn his back on them. One more, and he almost tripped over the body of their last kill.

“Go!” Rifles were raised.

Spurred on by pure panic, Wilson turned and dove into the trees, laughter following him. 

 

**Chapter 2**

Of course, the road and his vehicle were in the other direction.

Wilson paused, leaning his back against a tree and trying to catch his breath. He glanced back the way he had came through the dense trees. Were they serious? _Do you want to hang around here and find out_? He thumped his head back against the rough bark, wondering why it was as though House were there, talking to him. Comforting, almost; House being there with him in a way that he wouldn’t be in danger.

How on earth was he going to get out of this fine mess that he stumbled into? He paused in his thoughts, expecting some more of House’s running commentary to fill the void, but the voice was silent for once. He was all alone, lost, and all he knew was that his car was in the other direction and two armed men with rifles, who weren’t above shooting people in the back, were supposedly on his trail. How hard could it be to keep a head of them for 24 hours?

Then a whistle blew and Wilson nearly stopped breathing. There was no doubt in his mind that that was a signal that the game had begun. With only a brief hesitation, he pushed off the tree and started running, willing himself to keep his pace even, to not tire himself too quickly, no matter how badly he wanted to run in a blind panic until he dropped.

He took a sharp left turn, ran for a little bit, then scrambled over where two trees had fallen on top of each other, crouching down and peering through the narrow gap between them. If he could just hide until they went past, then he could dash back to his car and get the hell away, maybe call the authorities...

Wilson swallowed nervously, wishing for water. He took another look over the top of the trunk and his heart sank. Even if these men had no skills to track him, which he was sure they did, they would have no problem finding his hideaway. Even he himself could see a clear trail leading right to where he was crouched. _Fuck_. House’s voice or his own, he wasn’t sure any more.

He didn’t want to break cover, but what choice did he have? A twig snapped to his right. Wilson froze, a cold sweat breaking out all down his neck and back. Run. Run. _Run!_ He darted out of hiding, expecting to hear a shot.

Laughter was worse.

“Fast devil, isn’t he?”

***

Wilson didn’t stop running until he ran out of ground. His foot slipped out from under him and he pitched forward, rolling several dozen times until he stopped with a sickening crack. 

...a hand, caressing his cheek...

...water wetting his lips...

_“...Wilson...”_

“House!”

A bird cawed angrily and flapped away.

Wilson was alone. He blinked, eyes blurry and vision swimming in his tears.

Need to keep moving.

“I can’t.”

_I need you, Jimmy. Help me._

“I can’t even help myself.”

_Dying._

Wilson slowly sat up, tears leaking from his eyes. His head felt like it was going to explode. He tenderly felt the back of his head and was relieved to find that the area was only a little tender. His legs, however...They looked like they had been in a battle with a barbed wire fence. A large gash was still leaking blood, and dozens upon dozens of smaller irritated scratches marred his bare skin all the way to the edge of his shorts. And that was only what he could see.

A gunshot rang out and it took Wilson a moment’s panic to realize that he hadn’t been shot at. They were still looking for him. Were they on the trail? Were they trying to flush him out?

Wilson used the tree that he’d cracked his head against to lever himself to his feet. He tested his weight carefully. His leg ached, but it ached whether he put pressure on it or not. He kicked the leaves and dirt around to cover the traces of his fall and looked up the fairly steep incline that he had fallen down. Maybe, just maybe, the fall had given him an advantage.

All he could do was start walking.

***

_Do you remember our first time?_

“Shut up, House.”

_Do you?_

“Yes.”

It was funny, thinking back. Maybe not so funny at the time...

_Over 16 years ago, wrists bound, hooked to the headboard above him. Naked. Wilson had glared at House. “Game’s over, Greg. Untie me.”_

_House had shaken his head, his blue eyes looking into Wilson’s soul. Piercing. Pure. Not hardened by pain or betrayal. And so very close._

_House had placed his palms behind Wilson’s knees, forcing them to bend and the legs to spread, careful yet firm. House had slipped them over his shoulders and crawled forward on the bed._

_“You know you can break my neck right now?” House had said, thoughtfully._

_Wilson had tightened his legs, putting a hint of pressure on the back of House’s neck. It would be so easy. Why wasn’t he fighting back?_

Why wasn’t he fighting back?

Wilson tripped, hands flying out to break his fall. They caught on a low tree limb that broke off under his weight, and he fell to the ground anyway.

Irritated and feeling a surge of adrenaline, he started to hurl the limb aside.

 _Why_ aren’t _you fighting back?_

Wilson closed his hands around the rough bark, then laid his forehead against his hands.

No way could he kill someone with a stick, though.

_Kill or be killed._

“Shut up, House,” Wilson whispered, mind already distracted, going back to every action flick that the man had made him watch. A plan started to take a glimmer of shape and he started running.

 

**Chapter 3**

He had a few hours until it got dark. He had to make this work before then, or risk spending an uneasy night watching his back. 

First, he desperately needed a place to hide. He needed two places to hide, actually. He peeled off his shirt and shivered as his damp skin was exposed to the chill air, the trees surrounding him blocking the sun’s heat. Hurrying on, he kept his eyes alert and open.

_To your right!_

There! Wilson spied a tree that had fallen not too long ago. He stumbled over to it, finally allowing himself to smile. He worked until his fingers were numb, digging out a little hollow under the tree and breaking off a few bushy limbs to make a nice looking shelter. Lastly, he tucked his shirt into the middle of it all, making sure that the light colors were slightly visible through the limbs. 

Satisfied and with all his nerves tingling, he made a second hiding spot behind a nearby tree. With luck, the men would have their backs turned to him as they found his faux hiding spot. He hunkered down to wait for them to show up, hoping that it would be soon. He rubbed his bare arms and wished that he had been able to make a better shelter for himself, but he didn’t dare tempt whatever luck he had on his side.

Wilson shivered violently, the adrenaline rush of the last few hours dying down and leaving him chilled and exhausted. His head pounded and he had to swallow a few times to keep from throwing up.

_House’s arms around him, keeping him warm, holding him tight. Kissing him._

As he was making his cover, Wilson had taken up a better weapon, finding a heavy knotted limb, still green and not yet dried out. Wilson shivered again, setting his sad weapon down and wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around himself. He wished they were House’s arms.

“I’ll get through this,” he told himself.

_You’ll get through this...I’ll never let go._

“How very Titanic of you.”

_Warm thoughts. Warm arms._

_Hands against his bare back, fingers tickling his ribs, lips kissing his neck, pulling him backwards into a hot embrace, laying him back against a bed of soft pine needles, removing his clothes and kissing him everywhere..._

Wilson was hallucinating and he didn’t care.

_...legs over shoulders, cock pressing into him, body nearly bending in half as House leaned down to kiss him._

House vanished and Wilson nearly cried out at the loss, but he caught himself in time.

Then Wilson heard it: the gentle snap of a twig, the rustle of feet in dead pine needles. He shrunk down, making himself as small as possible. He peered out of his hiding spot, looking for the source of the sounds. It was a good minute later that he finally saw a flash of blue jeans, a glimpse of flannel.

Could he really go through with this? Wilson slowly reached for the limb, feeling its weight as he tried to grip it with fingers that could barely feel. His body was so tense that it hurt. He licked his lips and tasted dirt.

Whispers now. They were close. “I’m going to fuck this up,” Wilson thought helplessly.

_No you’re not..._

House...

_Get ready._

Wilson peeked again and saw that they had their backs to him. He froze. The larger of the two was raising his rifle, taking aim...

The gunshot made him jump and his heart seize.

_Now!_

Praying to a god he barely believed in, Wilson sidestepped away from his hiding spot, stick over one shoulder like a baseball bat. His first wild swing clipped one of Flannel Shirt’s shoulders, the impact enough to cause his rifle to fall to the ground. His second swing hit Blue Eyes just below the ear as he started to turn around, and he fell like a stone. The third swing was caught and Wilson met Flannel Shirt’s angry eyes as his stick was wrenched from his hand. Wilson used the momentum and crashed against him and they both toppled to the ground, Wilson landing on top until the guy punched a glancing blow off his jaw and rolled them.

He was heavy and a knee dug into Wilson’s stomach as he was pinned to the ground. Wilson brought up his hands to protect his face as the guy started to throw a punch at him. But, instead of a punch, Wilson’s arms were roughly grabbed and pulled away from his face.

“Ed was right, you are a change. Hey, Ed,” Flannel Shirt looked back over his shoulder, “get up and claim your prize.”

Wilson hoped Ed was dead.

“Ed?”

Wilson tried to look, but could only see a hand. And the hand wasn’t moving.

The man on top of him turned back with a furious scowl. Would Wilson live long enough to find out if he was a murderer? Wilson twisted violently to the side, but the man barely moved. 

“You killed ‘im.”

Wilson thought he had seen rage before. He hadn’t. His wrists felt like they were going to break as the grip on them tightened.

“You stupid son of a bitch.”

Wilson’s hands were raised above his head and he could only watch helplessly as Flannel Shirt’s face reddened in his anger. Suddenly, one of his hands was released. Flannel Shirt was trying to get into a pocket. Wilson waited until the guy tilted a little to get his hand in deeper before he bucked and rocked his body to the left, throwing the man off balance. Wilson rolled onto his stomach just as he felt a hand clench around his ankle. He reached for the only thing he could find--the discarded rifle. He grabbed it by the barrel and swung it backwards as hard as he could. Gun met skull in a sickening crack and the body fell across the back of his legs.

Wilson collapsed as every ounce of energy left him. A few leaves trembled from his breath as he struggled to breathe and process what had just happened. _Everything_ that had just happened. He was alone in the woods, lost, starving, every bone in his body ached, and two people were probably dead. Possibly three, if he included himself. A sob shuddered through his body, then another.

_Wilson..._

_Wilson...._

_Wilson!_

“I’ll never let go,” Wilson mumbled as he opened his eyes. He had been having this strange....dream? Nightmare? He sat up and looked around. His heart sank. He was still in the forest. It was barely light enough to make out the two bodies that lay close to him, one partially over his legs

Wilson finally pulled his feet out from under the dead weight, then froze. He saw a glint of metal. A knife. He had almost been knifed in the back. If he hadn’t found the rifle...He fought off a wave of nausea, closing his eyes tightly until it passed.

It took him several long minutes to get up the nerve to check and see if the men were still alive.

No pulse. Flannel Shirt and Blue Eyes--Ed--were miraculously dead.

He had never killed anyone before. He sat back, staring wide-eyed at the bodies.

_They were trying to kill you._

“But--”

 _They were_ trying _to_ kill _you!_

Wilson shut up. Arguing with himself, or House, was pointless. His only concern should be to make sure he didn’t become a third body. He shivered, his body reminding himself that moving would be good about now if he wanted to get out of here. But where was here? Wilson had gotten completely turned around. He had no idea which way he had come from.

Shit.

Wilson glanced at the bodies, half expecting them to jump up and try to kill him, but they remained still. Dead. He swallowed and stood up carefully. His legs quivered and he leaned against a tree for support. He wondered if he had the strength to get back to his car. 

He looked warily down at the men before hesitantly stepping back toward them. Slowly he searched the bodies, finding a water bottle, jerky in a plastic bag that was still warm from being in a pocket, and hunting knife with a blade as long as his hand. He pulled free their wallets, ignoring the sad handful of bills and going straight for their licenses. He had to tilt them to be able to read the names: Ed Lewis and Frank Handshaw. Knowing he would have to send someone back for them, he tucked the licenses away in his back pocket and ran a hand through his hair before continuing his search.

Flannel Shirt - Frank - had been carrying a knapsack and Wilson, feeling like a scavenger, emptied its contents on the ground. He found a hand knitted hat, a Swiss army knife, more water and a flashlight. He fingered the hat for a moment, wondering if a grandmother, a mother, or a wife had lovingly made it for him. A Christmas or a fall birthday present perhaps. Maybe it wasn’t even his...

_Wilson_

Wilson jumped, dropping the hat and the flashlight he had picked up. When he glanced around to make sure House wasn’t about to angrily limp toward him, he had to squint to make out the shapes of the farther trees. Night was falling. Had he really been passed out for that long?

He switched on the flashlight, testing the battery. The light caught off something he had overlooked. He reached out to retrieve it from its nest of pine needles. A GPS! Wilson stared in shock at the tiny device that would prove to be his salvation. He turned it on and was able to lock into his location, then the road that he had parked on. 

Wilson opened the water bottle and took a partial sip, trying not to throw up at the thought of sharing anything belonging to the two men who had almost killed him. It did help soothe his parched throat. He eyed the jerky and decided to pass on it. No matter how hungry he was, it would only make him thirstier.

Taking one more small sip, Wilson pocketed the small knife, then trained the flashlight on the GPS and started walking.

 

**Chapter 4**

Wilson tripped over something, possibly his own feet. He landed heavily on his abused and bruised knees, dropping the flashlight and automatically tucking the precious GPS device close to his body to protect it. He stayed on the ground--head bowed, breath heavy and fogging in the air--for several minutes. Each time he blinked, it was a struggle to open his eyes again. Sleep was calling to him and he was doing his best to ignore it.

He retrieved the flashlight, hoping that it was just his imagination that the light was weakening, and carefully stood. He paused for a small sip of water--thoughts of backwash making it a very small sip--and rechecked his location on the GPS before forcing his legs to continue on.

Despite the sounds of fleeing nocturnal critters, Wilson had never felt more alone in his life. Even House’s voice had shut up on him.

House. Wilson wondered if the man had even noticed his absence. Probably not. No one would miss him until Monday.

He didn’t realize he was out of the forest until a cold breeze stung his bare skin. He blinked, coming out of whatever trance he had been in, and looked up at the stars twinkling in the sky. The hiking trail. He was now on the hiking trail. It looked different somehow, even though he had just been on it that morning. The long shadows made the foliage look denser, like years had passed and not only hours.

Wilson carefully followed the trail, not wanting to find the previous victim again. No more death.

Tears sprang to his eyes when he rounded the bend and saw his little Volvo. Wilson reached into his pocket for the keys, but only found lint. He tried his other pocket and found the knife. No keys. Then he remembered seeing them flying through the air, disappearing in the bushes. Would he even be able to find them again? Just as he was about to bang his head against the car door until he blacked out, he remembered something. Was it still there? He sank to his knees, wincing as sharp rocks stabbed his skin, and reached underneath the car, feeling around for the small magnetic box...There! His hands shook as he pulled the box to him and he could hear the key hitting the plastic sides. 

The first thing he did was go to the trunk and get into his duffel bag, packed before he left in case of an emergency. He put on a sweatshirt and pulled out a pair of jeans. He tossed modesty out the window and changed out of his shorts. The stiff denim hurt where it rubbed against his scratched legs, but he barely felt the pain.

He closed the trunk and got in behind the wheel, turned on the car and the heat, and...just sat there, head resting on the steering wheel. Safe. He felt safe. He took a deep breath, smelling the soft strawberry air freshener and a faint trace of Doritos that House had been eating yesterday. He reached behind the backseat and found an unopened bottle of water. He lost the cap as he opened it and drank most of the warm water without pausing for air. 

He hadn’t realized how cold he was until the car was all toasty and every single injury started throbbing. It now hurt to even move, to put his foot to the pedal and change from park to reverse. Wilson gritted his teeth and started driving.

***

Wilson pulled into the staff parking area at PPTH 20 minutes later. He barely remembered the drive. Why had he driven to the hospital? Surely he didn’t need medical attention _that_ desperately. But since he was here, he figured he could take a bottle of peroxide to his legs, raid the staff lounge for food, and then sleep on his couch.

Trying not to walk as though he were imitating House’s limp, Wilson slowly made his way inside the double doors, trying to make sure not to draw any attention to himself from the night shift. The elevator beckoned him from across the room. It seemed so far away. Was this how it felt for House every day? Measuring each room by how long it took you to get to the other side of it?

He had just made it past the information counter when he heard high heels rapidly clicking his way. _Cuddy_? He turned, and discovered that his guess had been right.

“Wilson! You got my messages after all--” She cut herself off mid sentence when she saw Wilson’s face. “What happened to you?” She steered him into an empty office.

Wilson moved toward a mirror on the wall and peered at his reflection. He looked a mess. A large bruise had formed along the side of his jaw, purpling so bad that it was almost black, a trio of fine cat-like scratches were on his left cheek, and his hair...He turned back to face Cuddy. “I went hiking this morning,” he explained. “And I fell.” Lame. Very lame.

“But it’s eleven at night! Did you lose consciousness?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, then his brain caught up to what she had said in greeting. “Wait, you were trying to message me?”

Cuddy’s face switched from concern to sad and worried. “It’s House.”

“What happened?” Wilson felt a cold waterfall chill ripple over him and then Cuddy was at his side, a steady hand against his shoulder. “What....” His own voice sounded far away. Then he realized he wasn’t standing any more, cool floor underneath his cheek. Somewhere a door slammed...

***

_You idiot._

_???_

_You_ did _pick one of the best spots to pass out._

_House?_

_You’re a real joy to talk to._

_Where are you?_

_Always asking questions._

_What?_

_See what I mean? Fine, I’ll see you later._

_Wait, don’t go!_

***

Wilson woke with a start. He was in one of the few private hospital rooms. One that had a wooden door and no glass walls. At least that was one thing to be relieved about. An IV was attached to his arm, and a clear substance being delivered through it. Saline.

He sat up, careful not to pull on the IV. He was dressed in light green hospital scrubs. Well, a scrub top. The pants lay neatly folded at the end of the bed. He lifted the covers and saw the soft bandages that covered most of his lower legs. He must have really been out of it. He wondered what nurse had ended up taking care of him. Or had it been Cuddy herself?

Wilson pushed the emergency call button and waited for a nurse to show, relaxing back against his pillow. Instead, Cuddy hurried into the room, her tense shoulders relaxing when she saw him. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him, looking at him with bloodshot eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” Cuddy asked him.

Wilson thought for a moment. 

“Confused,” he finally answered. He noticed just how dry his mouth was and started to reach for a cup. But Cuddy was faster. She helped him as he sat up, then cradled his hands around the cup until she was sure he wouldn’t drop it.

“Better?”

Wilson nodded, then laid back and closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he concentrated his thoughts. “What did House do this time?”

“I’m not talking about him until I’m sure you aren’t going to pass out again. Now, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Wilson wanted to say “no”. He wanted to cross his arms childishly and refuse. But he didn’t. He told her everything. Almost. “...And then I ended up here,” he finished. He had been looking at the clock on the wall the whole time, watching the seconds and the words tick by as he talked. Now he turned his focus back to Cuddy.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes were wide and a hand was partially covering her mouth. “And the men? Are you sure they’re dead?”

Wilson nodded. “I have their licenses in my car.” At least Wilson thought he had put his shorts, containing the laminated cards, in his trunk. “I was around Cook’s Hill. The GPS should have the location.”

“We’ll deal with them in the morning. Wow,” she shook her head, flabbergasted. 

“But I’m fine now,” he said hurriedly to reassure her. “Now can you please tell me what House did this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Pardon?”

“He didn’t _do_ anything. Earlier this morning, he started to seize. Thank God his team were in the room.” She handed Wilson House’s folder, her hand trembling. 

Wilson hesitated a brief moment before opening up the file. “His heart stopped? Again?”

Cuddy nodded, biting her lip as Wilson started to flip through the pages. “They brought him back, but he’s unresponsive. We ran a tox screen. A small trace of Vicodin is all we found. Heart is normal, liver and kidney function good. He’s in a coma.”

Wilson’s eyes scrolled over the words that Cuddy spoke, then of all the tests that had came back normal. There was no reason for him to be in a coma. Then he looked at the time that House had seized: 11:15 am. _Time of death, 11:15_ , the words came back to him eerily. Wilson swallowed, feeling weak. “Can I see him?”

“Can you walk?” 

Wilson was unsure, but he nodded anyway. As he sat up and started to take out his IV, Cuddy handed him his scrub bottoms, then went to wait for him out in the hall. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to collect himself before starting to put the pants on. He had to be careful to not catch them on his bandages as he pulled them to his knees, then stood to pull them the rest of the way up. Once standing, he was a little unsteady on his feet and had to grip the bed frame as he took his first couple of steps. He took another drink of water, then went to join Cuddy.

He met Cuddy in the hallway and followed her as she led him several doors down. Before she opened the door into House’s room, she pulled Wilson into a big hug. “I wish you two guys would stop doing this to me,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

“Go home, Lisa.” He returned the hug. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Cuddy pulled away, looking a bit flustered at her rare show of affection for one of her favorite doctors. “I’ll leave, but only as far as my office. You look like you could use some sleep, yourself.”

Wilson watched her walk away. Not until the click of her shoes faded and he heard the distant ping of the elevator did Wilson go into the room.

The smell was the first thing he noticed. Not a bad smell, just House. It made Wilson long for a warm bed and warm arms, both off limits for now. Wilson quietly approached the bed and sat down in a nearby chair. The chair creaked under his weight and he shifted uncomfortably. “House?” he whispered.

Wilson slipped his fingers between House’s, pleased to find them warm. Alive. No more death today. He scooted the chair closer, not letting go of House’s hand as he turned sideways to get flush next to the bed.

“Was that you, earlier? In the woods?” Of course, he didn’t expect an answer. And he didn’t get one. He closed his eyes and listened to the _bleep, bleep, bleep_ of House’s heart monitor. Steady. Even. “I’m fine now,” he went on. “You can wake up.” He tried to ignore a flash that went through his mind of the hero’s demise on _Titanic_. Laughter echoed in his ears and he looked around, startled. But, aside from House’s body on the bed, he was alone.

***

He didn’t know how long he had been sitting for. Watching, waiting, looking for a sign, anything. His eyelids drooped and next thing he knew, he was almost tipping out of the chair. He caught himself just in time, startled awake. He eyed the bed, first to see if the chance to laugh at his near-fall had been enough to get House’s attention, second to see if there was any room for himself. Naturally, House was sleeping in the middle of the small bed.

Wilson didn’t want to leave House. Nor did he want to have back damage for days after trying to sleep in the hard chair. Returning to his own hospital room or his office wasn’t even an option in his mind. Reluctantly, he left to request a small cot be brought into the room, then ducked inside the staff lounge to grab a quick jelly sandwich.

The bed was in place in the room by the time Wilson returned. First thing he did was move it so it was next to House’s. He wasn’t as tired now, but he lay down anyway, again taking up House’s hand, kissing the back of it. He felt like he should say something as he lay on his side, staring at House and clinging to his hand like a lifeline. But what to say? Where to start?

After Wilson cleared his throat, he began, “I remember when we first...” he lowered his already soft voice, “...kissed. I had had a lousy day. Lousy week. I needed to unload on someone. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Until you kissed me. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. It still does...did. In the woods, the memory of you, us, was what kept me going, kept me alive.” Wilson softly cleared his throat. “A couple of days ago, you talked about coming out to everyone. I...was so mad at you for even thinking it would be a good idea. But now...anything if you will come back to me. “ Wilson rolled to his back, away from the still body of his friend, and tried to hold in his tears of frustration. “Anything, you hear me? Please.”

***

Warm hands. Warm arms. House’s smell. Surrounding him. Don’t die, House. 

_I won’t._

Stay with me.

_I will._

 

**Chapter 5**

“James?”

Cuddy’s voice.

Wilson didn’t want to wake up. He was warm and safe, surrounded by the man he loved. Opening his eyes would make that all go away. 

“James? Wilson, wake up.”

He tried to communicate his annoyance with a groan.

“Wilson!”

He slowly opened his eyes. He was surprised when none of his dream-feelings went away. He looked at Cuddy, confused, then down at the arm that was crossing over his chest, bent so the palm was resting over his heart. He turned around to face House and was almost strangled by House’s IV. Cuddy had to rescue him.

“He was probably trying to kill me in my sleep,” Wilson grumbled, sitting up and rubbing absently at the thin red line across his neck that was already starting to fade.

“Did you put him that way?” Cuddy asked after they rolled House back onto his bed.

“Creepy, wrong, and no.” Wilson didn’t take his eyes off of House. “Do you think he woke up while I was sleeping?”

“So he could try to cuddle with you? He would die of embarrassment if he knew.”

“Yeah,” Wilson hesitantly agreed, swallowing nervously. “Any change in his condition?” He changed the subject when Cuddy gave him a funny look. 

“Slightly elevated heart rate, but nothing to be concerned over. Everything else is the same as when I left.”

Wilson nodded as he took in the words. “What time is it?

“Just a little past 11 in the morning.”

He had slept for almost 10 hours.

“Would you like something brought in from the cafeteria?”

Wilson shook his head at Cuddy’s offer. He was hungry, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave House’s side. Not after waking up to find that somehow House had moved while they had both slept.

“I can send a nurse in to redress your bandages.”

“I’m _fine_ , Lisa.” He instantly regretted his snappish tone and pleaded with his eyes for her to forgive him. “I’m fine,” he repeated softly. “I’ll get up in a little while. I just want to sit with him a while longer.”

Cuddy nodded, biting her bottom lip with her teeth, but not pressing things further.

For that, Wilson was grateful. He forced a reassuring smile as Cuddy turned to leave. Wilson waited until the door was shut before turning back to House. He slowly reached his fingers out to brush an unshaven cheek.

_Beep-beep! Beep-beep!_

Wilson drew his hand back as if burned, looking down at his wrist, the source of the shrill beeping. 11:15. He remembered now: Blue Eyes grabbing him and tightly fastening the watch to his wrist. 24 hours ago. He was still alive. A different set of blue eyes caught his attention. “House?”

Thin graying eyebrows were lowered, forehead wrinkling with confusion. House started to raise his right hand, but he noticed the IV and stopped. He raised his left hand instead, reaching to touch the bruise at Wilson’s jaw.

It was still tender to the touch and Wilson flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“Do I,” House paused to clear his throat so he could speak louder than a whisper, “do I even have to ask how your weekend went? Looks like you lost a fight to an angry chipmunk.”

Wilson smiled, closing his eyes in relief. Things were going to be all right now.


End file.
